The Art of Deduction
by happybutnotsolucky
Summary: Jim left Molly for dead but she survived. Sherlock didn't even bat an eyelid. It's the first time the've seen each other since the night at the pool... What will happen?
1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper had been had been awake from her induced coma 6 weeks, had been out of hospital 5 weeks and been back at work 3 days. In the 6 weeks since waking up, she'd wished a thousand times she were still asleep. She could still feel his hands around her throat, him cutting her torso and breaking her fingers one by one. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see his. Those dilated black pupils, full of hatred. It made her sick but she couldn't wipe them from her mind, she felt frozen with fear and she almost didn't return to work.

At this moment she was absently wiping down a slab in the mortuary, when she heard the door behind her squeak open and the breath in her throat caught quickly. She slowly turned and came face to face with Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson.

Since leaving hospital she had been told about Sherlock Holmes quite frequently. Her work colleagues had explained that when Jim left her to die, he went to find Sherlock. "There was an almighty stand-off" someone had exclaimed. "It's incredible either of them are alive, after the explosion at the swimming pool!" Another one had said. Indeed neither of them looked worse for wear.

Molly's history with Sherlock Holmes was one-sided and repetitive. He would compliment her, she would blush, he would ask for a "favour" and she'd say yes to anything. Because, she loved him. But since that day, when she'd almost died, she'd been thinking. In fact, all she did was think. And her thoughts went along these lines: "Sherlock Holmes is an ARSE HOLE!" She was so tired of being thought of as insignificant, stupid and there to be taken advantage of. She wasn't special, he thought of everyone that way but she knew he saw her as some sort of joke and she's had enough.

Whilst these thoughts were winding through her mind, Sherlock was speaking. She hadn't caught a word of it but it sounded like he was asking for a favour... again.

"... Could you manage that?" Sherlock finished.

"What?" Molly said absently.

"I said can you manage that?"

"No, I meant I didn't hear any of it, I wasn't listening. What did you say?" Molly said, already annoyed.

"Molly I don't have time for this. I need you to get out the body of Fred Sheeran for myself and Dr Watson to inspect. Hurry up, this could be very important to the case." Sherlock said, exasperated at having to repeat himself.

"Please." John added, looking a little embarrassed at his partner's abruptness.

"No." Replied Molly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Did you say no?" Sherlock exclaimed.

"It seems you heard me perfectly. I did indeed respond in the negative." Molly didn't know where this courage was coming from but she could see the vein in Sherlock's neck begin to pulse rapidly, indicating he was becoming irritated very quickly.

She saw his eyes flicker all over her body before he said quietly, "Are those new shoes? They look lovely on you." With the hint of a smile, which she knew was for show.

"Really Sherlock, with your heightened IQ I would've thought you would have been more original. No they're not new and no you cannot see the body. Have a nice day." She retorted, looking down to finish cleaning the sides of the cabinets.

Sherlock was instantly by her side grabbing her shoulders. She cried out, as his grasp put pressure on her burns.

"Sherlock!" John shouted as Sherlock immediately let go of Molly.

John was immediately at Molly's side, putting a stool behind her to sit down on as her eyes watered with pain and anger. John eased her down on the stool whilst Sherlock was looking at her speculatively, no trace of concern on his face. She was just a new puzzle to solve. She was determined not look at his face again.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked slowly.

"You mean you don't know? The infamous Sherlock Holmes can't deduce from just looking at me what occurred for me to react in such a way? You're losing your touch!" She spat to the ground.

"John, would you excuse Molly and I for a moment?"

"I don't think..." John started.

"No you don't. I'll see you outside." Sherlock interrupted. John looked at Molly, who nodded minutely. He left the room without saying a word to Sherlock.

"Show me." He said as soon as he heard the door click, never moving his eyes from her face.

"Excuse me?"

"Show me where he hurt you." Sherlock said again.

She looked up. He knew instantly that Molly was no longer was going to be so willing to help him. He could see in her eyes the anger and bitterness and wondered what she saw in his.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why do _you _care?" Molly questioned. "Why, all of a sudden, are my injuries of interest to you, hhmm? Want to inspect the clotting process on my burns? Want to observe how every time I close my eyes I see his face? Want to deduce why, even now, when I play it back through my mind, I still expect you to walk through the door and stop him?" She panted, lost for breath at her outburst.

"I've watched you a thousand times" she whispered. "I've watched come to the rescue of so many people and yet when it came to me," she looked up with tears brushing her eyelashes "when it came to me you let me down."

"Is that why you won't get the body of Fred Sheeran for me? Because I wasn't the hero of the hour?" Sherlock questioned scathingly.

Molly took a deep breath through her nose and let it out through her mouth before answering. "The reason I will not get _any_ body for you from now on" she glared back at him "is because I am not your pet. I will no longer fetch as soon as you pay me a compliment. I am done being the punch line of your joke."

Sherlock appraised Molly with a long look. "What do you want?" he asked.

She stood in front of him and looked him in the eye. "I want you to treat me with some respect. I may not be a "consulting detective" or a genius but I am good at what I do and I would appreciate it if you recognised that."

"I..." Sherlock began.

"I wasn't finished." Molly seethed. Sherlock, not used to being interrupted started to say something, but the look on Molly's face stopped whatever it was he was going to say.

"Thank you. I would also appreciate it if you didn't abuse my feelings for you. You are a very bright and observant man and I know you know what I mean. Just because I have feelings doesn't make me weak." She looked at him pointedly knowing full well, this was something he vehemently disagreed with.

"For example" she continued "Your friendship with John Watson. You can't say that has hindered your work. And we both know you care for him because you listen when he speaks, which means you care what he thinks."

Sherlock stared back at her, surprised by her insight and, he guessed, her deduction.

"Finally," she said with an intake of breath "I would very much appreciate it if you would go for coffee with me tomorrow afternoon."

She saw his eyes widen minutely. It took so long for him to speak, her chest started to hurt, making her realise she had been holding her breath in anticipation to his answer.

"I'm sorry?" He questioned.

"I said..." but she was interrupted by the darkness that overtook her laboratory. Her eyes went wide and she took a sharp breath in. The only light in the room was now coming from Sherlock's illuminated phone. She could see his face immediately calculating the cause. She knew. She knew immediately that this was not an accident. She knew that this was him coming back to finish what he started two months ago. This was the return of James Moriarty.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly was frozen. She could feel herself shaking, could hear herself panting but she couldn't move. Her fear had overrun every thought in her mind. She needed guidance. She felt a hand placed on the small of her back and in panic she looked up to see Sherlock in front of her. Confused she looked at his eyes. They were flitting from one direction to the other, calculating and void of emotion.

He started to walk forwards, forcing her to walk back. She tripped over her own feet taken by surprise at the movement. Her back hit a wall suddenly and then she realised what Sherlock was doing. He was reducing the points of attack on both of them. He removed his hand from her back and moved to her right side, his back also against the wall.

She could hear him breathing, could see the tension in his jaw, which signified to her that even though she couldn't see it in his eyes, he was afraid and that terrified her even more. She had never, in all the years she'd known him, seen him flustered or shaken and now here it was. And it was all because of one man. One horrifying, devious, cruel man.

Molly had an epiphany of sorts in that moment. Yes, he was an arse but she loved Sherlock Holmes. She liked her life and wanted to continue living it in any way she saw fit. She realised to do that, she was going to have to concoct a plan of escape for herself and Sherlock. This was her lab and she knew every molecule inside it. Sherlock and Molly would leave this building, alive.

She calculated in the dark, their position in the laboratory. If the slab was in front of her and the door was to her right that meant the cupboards to her left contained the acids. More specifically, Hydroflueric Acid, a very corrosive substance and one of the most dangerous acids on the planet. It melts skin and corrodes the calcium in your bone matter. Very dangerous but very useful in these deadly games.

Next to Sherlock were the pressurised gasses, aerosols and so on. An aerosol combined with a flame was a good example of quite a small, controlled fire. Also, in that cupboard was a canister of pressurised chloroform.

Whilst these thoughts were tumbling though her mind she felt Sherlock move further to the right. She reached out quickly and grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"Where are you going?" She seethed, in a whisper. She heard the door creak, saw the lights flicker and there in front of them was Jim Moriarty.

"Hello" he crooned. "Hi Molly" he said with a wink. "Now _what_ am I going to do with the pair of you? How dare you go on _living_ when I've killed you once already? Ha-ha." He said with a smile but Molly could see, even from this distance, the murderous glint in his eye.

Sherlock stayed silent, glaring at Moriarty, following his movements around the room.

"What do you want?" Molly said, pleased she could speak with minimal vibrations in her voice.

Moriarty looked her up and down before looking straight into her eyes, like he just only realised she was there."Hmmm, what have you done to her, Sherlock? I worked so hard on breaking her and yet she seems stronger than before... What have you been doing?"

She saw Sherlock glance at her and then look straight back at Moriarty. Moriarty leaned his head to one side as if trying to figure out a puzzle. "Aaaahhh, I see. You forgot her Sherlock Tut, tut." He said, condescendingly.

Molly glared at Moriarty but said nothing; she was contemplating how she could get to the cupboard next to Sherlock containing the chloroform gas cylinder without being snipered.

"Well, I'm just going to have to start from scratch. Sherlock sit here or I will have Miss Hooper shot." He said, pointing to the stool in front of him. Molly looked down and could see five red dots aimed at her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm really very sorry about the delay in updating but I really have to believe what I write and I've had writer's block since my last update. Also I'm really sorry about not replying to reviews, for some reason my account won't allow me to but I read and appreciate every one. Now, we continue...

She had hoped she would be able to keep calm. Logically, she knew that pain and death were a certainty being in the presence of Jim Moriarty. But her heart started to rise up her oesophagus and choke off her air supply. She also felt tears leak from her eyes and brush her eyelashes. She looked up to see that Sherlock had indeed moved to the stool and was sitting with eyes staring forward, barren.

"How are your burns Molly? And your cuts as well, are they healing nicely?" Jim asked, as though he were genuinely inquiring after her health with concern.

"Would you like to inspect your handy work for yourself?" Molly choked out.

"Well, if you're not bashful. I did put such a lot of effort into it."

Molly glanced at Sherlock, unbuttoning her white coat, to reveal a long sleeved, black top. She let her coat fall to the floor and grasped the bottom of the cotton top, rising an inch before looking above Sherlock's head and staring, like God himself might come through the wall to save them. She gulped a breath in and raised the top over her head.

She kept her eyes closed as her arms fell to her side and pulled the sleeves from her wrists. Through the drumming in her ears she could hear the sounds of expensive shoes walking across the linoleum. She couldn't resist the urge to look up and was not surprised to see Moriarty walking towards her, chuckling under his breath.

Before looking back down, however, she could see that Sherlock's position had changed slightly. He now had one hand on the slab in front of the stool, his knuckles were white with the exertion of his grasp and his eyes were fixed on her skin.

"This is why I do what I do, Sherlock. Can you not see the beauty of these scars on Molly's skin? What you do, it is like stopping an artist putting brush to canvas." Jim said, while his eyes seemed to glaze over, looking at the broken skin of Molly Hooper's broken body.

Molly looked at Sherlock then and saw the flick of his wrist and heard a subtle hiss which would have been drowned out by Moriarty's voice had she not been listening for it.

"Have you ever considered what it is like to be average?" Molly looked at the dots on her chest as she spoke. "I mean, to be insecure about your intelligence and to be concerned by what people think?"

"Oh look, Sherlock, she's back to normal." Jim said with a smile, turning to Sherlock with a relieved smile. "For a second, I thought I was going to have to damage your pretty face to get her to break down. Yes, your right Molly, you are average."

"You see, that is exactly the same mistake Sherlock makes when he looks at me," Molly said with a chuckle as she approached Moriarty, stopping three feet from his surprised eyes. "But you see, _James_... I will be able to make the sacrifice Sherlock will not, because I am distinctly _average_."

She heard the lighter switch, lunged at Moriarty and pushed him towards the gulf of flames that had burst from the lab table gas tap. She felt the bullets hitting her side as she gripped Moriarty's body. The pain overwhelmed her, her vision clouded and then she felt numb.


End file.
